


Flowers Never Bend With The Rainfall

by sal_si_puedes



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: (Mike's words - not mine...), All's well that ends well... :D, And a bit of fluff, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Harvey is a stupid idiot, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 17:26:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2237376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sal_si_puedes/pseuds/sal_si_puedes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harvey is a very passionate man. And that scares the shit out of him - especially when it comes to one Mike Ross.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flowers Never Bend With The Rainfall

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Marvey Fic Challenges](marveyficchallenges.tumblr.com) Challenge #3 (line prompt: "I can't date anyone from the office.")
> 
> The title comes from the [Simon & Garfunkel song by the same name](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fd-DvSTBq1o).
> 
> I'm [sal-si-puedes](sal-si-puedes.tumblr.com) on tumblr.

Harvey Specter is a man of many passions. Some are visible even on the outside – scotch, music, baseball, basketball, movies. Some are known to just some of his clients and acquaintances – cars, watches, art, dark chocolate, Star Trek. And then there are some that are known only to a very few – the smell of green apples, freshly fallen leaves, his work, beautiful, tailor-made suits.

The last one may seem rather obvious but it is mistaken for either vanity or necessity by most if not by all. As a matter of fact, Harvey is quite sure that almost nobody – if anybody at all – knows that he is truly passionate about any of those things. 

Harvey Specter is a very passionate man, but nobody knows about that. 

And he's careful not to develop any more passions. Because he knows how it goes. There is the first stage, when your heart beats incredibly fast, your pulse and blood pressure rise skywards and you're feeling giddy and are constantly smiling (or you would be if you were a smiler) and you can't wait, you just _can't wait_ for the next fix. The next game, the next drive, the next show, the next taste, the next case. The next _time_. This is distracting, but nothing Harvey can't handle. And, if he's perfectly honest, he gets an enormous kick out of those feelings. They can carry him for days, weeks and sometimes even months.

But this is where things become problematic. There's that one point – and it's always there when it comes to a true passion, _always_ – that _one point_ where the whole thing tips. This is when the second stage begins. That is the stage when your heart aches with longing. When you stagger and stumble under the full weight of what it all _is_ , what it all _mean_ s. And that's something Harvey doesn't handle so well. The yearning. The constant pull. The blood that hurts in his veins. The _need_.

And then, of course, there is the third stage, the last one. That is when you know that you can never—Heartbreak. Pain. Darkness. Nothing. That's when you realize that you'll never really _get there_ , that you'll never truly _have_. Because you're not good enough. Because you're damaged, imperfect. Because it just doesn't sit all that well. Because people leave. Music. Baseball. Love. This, Harvey will never do again. He can't. He'd end if he did. Or go on like that forever, which would be the same, basically. Only worse. So he won't.

So. Best to nip a potential new passion in the bud. Harvey has learned that the hard way, but he has learned it in the end.

Which leads us to one Mike Ross. Of course. Where else would it lead? Where else would _anything_ lead? Mike, who is so full of life. Mike with that freak brain and that astonishing, beautiful mind. Mike with those stares and giggles and the sweaty palms. Mike with those red, swollen lips and a chest that's far more toned than you'd think. Mike with his wicked mouth and talented tongue. Mike, who is hot but also warm, so very warm – like sunlight in the park on an afternoon in fall. Like freshly fallen leaves. Like dark chocolate and his father's music. Mike, who just needs to look at him once – and Harvey's hard in his trousers. Mike, who can make him come undone in minutes, if not faster. Mike, who sometimes takes his time like nobody Harvey has ever met before. Mike, who smells so good, just _so fucking good_. Mike, who drives Harvey mad with want.

Mike, whom Harvey is so into that he sometimes doesn't even remember his own name. For weeks now, Harvey hasn't been able to keep his hands off Mike when they're alone and barely when they're in company or in public. As soon as they are in an elevator (any elevator) or the back of a car, Harvey's hands are on him and his tongue is in Mike's mouth. Or at his pulse point. Or dipping into the hollow of his throat. Or licking along the vein on the underside of his cock. 

And Harvey simply can't get enough. It's never enough and he _wants_. He wants so much and more and always more and it's never, _ever_ enough. And when he looks at Mike that one evening, when his gaze tangles with Mike's disheveled hair and his breathing chokes at the sight of Mike's loosened tie, he knows. He knows that he has to nip this in the bud. _Now._

So he sits Mike down right there and then and pours them both a drink. He hands Mike his glass and drops down heavily on the other couch opposite of Mike. They're going to have _the talk_. Now.

"Mike," Harvey takes a deep swallow from his scotch and clears his throat. Mike looks confused. Harvey is sure he has been expecting to have a finger shoved up his ass by now, maybe even two, and instead he's getting whiskey and an impending conversation.

"I can't date anyone from the office."

"What?" Mike blurts out and nearly chokes on his drink. 

Harvey shakes his head and presses his lips together. "You heard me."

Mike blinks and sets down his glass. His face has lost all color in only a second or two. "I don't understand."

"What's not to understand? I can't date anyone from the office."

"I still—"

"Which means, this—" Harvey gestures between him and Mike, "whatever this is – has to end. Now."

"You can't—"

"Do you need me to say it again? Spell it out for you?"

"No, but—"

"Mike. I literally _can't_. Jessica made me sign an addendum to my partner's agreement after that mess with Scottie, she—"

"No."

"No?" Harvey raises his eyebrows and takes another swig from his glass.

"No. _Bullshit_ she did." Mike is rubbing his thighs with his hands and is staring at Harvey with wide, impossibly wide eyes.

"She _really_ did." Harvey sets down his glass as well and leans forward. He props his elbows on his knees and spreads his fingers. "Look, Mike."

"I quit," Mike interrupts, running his hands through his hair. "I quit. Then—"

" Look, _Mike_ ," Harvey repeats and when his throat constricts as his eyes meet Mike's he knows that, technically, it's already too late. This is more than want. This is longing. This is his heart exploding in his chest with love and need and a sense of belonging that pulls the rug away from underneath his feet. That is nothing but a thousand-feet-deep hole in the ground where his living room floor used to be. "I'm sorry, I _really_ am. Look, this has been fun, but—"

"Fun?" Mike narrows his eyes and frowns. " _Fun?_ "

"Yes, Mike. _Fun._ " Harvey folds his hands and breaks eye contact, letting his eyes wander over the coffee table to Mike's balled fists. "What did you think this was?"

"I don't know what this _was_ ," Mike says and tightens his fists even more for a moment. "But I know what this _isn't_." He unclenches his hands and rubs his right palm over his mouth. "This isn't just _fun_. And you know that."

Harvey bites his lips and stares at the tips of his shoes. From the corner of his eyes he can see Mike rising from the sofa and walking around the table to where he is sitting.

Mike stops at Harvey's side and crouches down in front of the other man.

"Harvey," he whispers. "Look at me. Look at me and tell me if you really think this is just fun."

Harvey knows that Mike is dying to reach out for him, to cup his face or to crook his index finger and lift his chin with it – and he's grateful that he doesn't.

He takes a couple of deep breaths and raises his head, locking eyes with Mike again.

"No."

Mike nods and exhales. He leans forward until he's kneeling at Harvey's feet and reaches for Harvey's hand.

"She didn't make you sign that addendum, did she?"

Harvey shakes his head again.

"No. No, she didn't."

"Good," Mike says and squeezes Harvey's hand.

"Yeah…" The smile that spreads over Mike's face when Harvey returns the squeeze makes the thought of winning the State Championships pale in comparison. "Good."

Mike buries his face in Harvey's lap and Harvey can feel Mike breathing and smiling against his inner thighs. He watches as his hands find their way to Mike's head and into his hair, into that impossible hair that is even more beautiful than the finest painting and smells so much better than the first fall afternoon in the park.

"You idiot," Mike murmurs and bites Harvey's thigh playfully through his trousers. "You stupid idiot."

"Yeah," Harvey breathes and allows his hands to play with Mike's hair some more. The soft strands feel so good between his fingers and his heart aches for that gentle caress. 

"Don't you ever scare me like that again…" Mike looks up for a moment and Harvey nods. He hates that Mike's eyes are so moist and he cups Mike's face and runs his thumb over Mike's cheekbone. When Mike lowers his head into his lap again, Harvey closes his eyes and breathes. Deep, calm breaths, and Mike's low chuckle is music in his ears. 

They sit like that for a while and Harvey knows that he _has_ and that he _is_ lost. For a second there, he is surprised how calm he feels about that, but then he remembers that he already knows why. Because this man, this incredible, impossible man, is more than a passion. He is everything. He is the only one who knows.

And just when Harvey nods again, to himself, ready to fall, and when his lips curl into the faintest smile, Mike slowly rises and takes hold of Harvey's hands.

"Come on, then," Mike smiles and places a gentle kiss on Harvey's lips. "Take me to bed. I need to feel your hands on me…"

And Harvey thinks that maybe, maybe he'll be safe with this one. He holds Mike close all through the night, nuzzling his hair and kissing the nape of his neck. He doesn't sleep for more than one hour, but that doesn't matter. He has something to look forward to tomorrow. 

Something better than suits and cars and watches and baseball.

Something better even than music and dark chocolate and freshly fallen leaves.

~fin~

**Author's Note:**

> Paging all Marvey writers!! Come and join [the challenge](marveyficchallenges.tumblr.com)!! It's fun! ;-)


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